


The Lion Sleeps

by granite



Series: Home Life [5]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Enjolras is a grumpy old man, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Married Couple, Old Married Couple, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 07:08:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/granite/pseuds/granite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras had a bad day, but Olivie always knows how to cheer him up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lion Sleeps

**Author's Note:**

> Aged five years!

“The jungle; a desolate landscape full of barbaric predators. A lion prowling the night in search of food.”

“Papa! I’m not a lion, I’m a _lioness_.”

“My apologies. A _lioness_ prowling the night. The leaves crackle beneath her vicious paws as she approaches her victim.”

“Okay, okay! Shh.”

He mimics zipping his lips as his daughter tiptoes toward the living room, a determined look on her painted face. She hides behind the arm of the couch before she pops up, jumping onto her victim’s lap.

“Shit!” He jumps, startled. “Olivie, don’t scare me like that.”

She pouts, working her best puppy dog eyes on Enjolras.

“Come play jungle with me and papa. He can paint your face like mine!” She beams, pointing to the golden paint caked on her cheeks. “You can be a lion too!”

He sighs. “Maybe another time, okay?”

“Okay, daddy.” She leans forward and places a wet kiss on his cheek, smearing oily paint on his stubble.

She fumbles off his lap and runs back into her room, slamming the door behind her and plopping down in front of Grantaire.

“Why doesn’t daddy want to play jungle with us?”

“I don’t think daddy is feeling well, princess.”

She makes a little ‘oh’ sound with her lips and lays on her stomach, holding her head in her hands.

“Is he sick?”

“No, he just had a bad day at work. He can play some other time, let’s leave him be for the night.”

“Okay, papa.”

She rises to her feet and skips lightly across the room, stopping in front of her toy chest and digging out a crayon box and colored paper. She sets them in front of her father before retrieving the tubes of glitter glue they bought her a few weeks ago.

“No more jungle?” 

She loves the game, and insists at least once a week that Grantaire paint her face some animal or another. Last week she was a tiger, and before that, a monkey. She hung from the side of the couch and demanded to be fed bananas, and Enjolras complied easily, taking the opportunity to give her fruit and vegetables. She draws and paints often enough, sometimes filling up whole notebooks, saying she wanted to make art just like her papa, but always bores easily with it.

“I want to make daddy a card so he’ll feel better.”

Grantaire digs through the crayon box, pulling out the reds and yellows.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Olivie. What should we make?”

“We can draw a picture of our family so he’ll be happy because he’s always really happy when everyone is here.”

He nods absently until her sentence hits him and he feels like his chest might explode. He sits there, stunned, while she starts on a little figure of Enjolras with curly yellow hair and a red shirt. She isn’t wrong, of course, he is always ecstatic when all their friends come together. They’re adults now, with lives and kids and schedules too chaotic for many group gatherings, but when it happens Enjolras practically bursts, flitting from person to person with a permanent smile plastered on his face. He always knew their group was family, family since he first opened his trap in a bar at a social justice meeting, but it certainly floored him to realize his daughter thinks the same thing. She breaks him out of his reverie, looking up to ask,

“Papa? What color are Uncle Marius’ eyes?”

“Green.”

He takes a steadying breath and shifts to lay on his stomach and color with her. She has the three of them finished, Grantaire with his curly black hair and an olive shirt and her with the same hair but longer, wearing a purple dress and holding Enjolras’ hand. She’s starting Marius, coloring in his brown hair and, with his consultation, green eyes.

“What’s Uncle Marius’ favorite color?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart.”

“Can you ask him? It’s _really_ important.”

He scoffs but pulls out his phone, sending a mass text asking for everyone on her behalf, because apparently their shirts _must be_ their favorite color. The replies stagger in, and he informs her dutifully that Marius loves yellow. She fills everyone in, until it’s a big chain of 14 little people holding hands. He helps her spell everyone's name, because a five year old trying to spell _Courfeyrac_ or _Gavroche_ or _Bossuet_ is a disaster waiting to happen. She puts her crayons down and picks it up, examining it.

“Are you gonna’ make a background?” He suggests.

“Yeah! A sky with pretty clouds.”

She scribbles in an azure sky with a sun the color of Enjolras’ hair in the corner. She makes white puffs floating around and draws them standing on a lopsided sidewalk. She picks up the glitter glue and starts writing with it, and when she’s done, it says _feel better daddy –love Olivie and Papa_ in purple sparkles.

“Done!” She pronounces, jumping to her feet.

Rising, he follows while she skips into the hallway toward the couch. He puts a hand on her shoulder, stilling her, when they get into the living room because Enjolras is snoring lightly, slumped horizontally with his head pillowed on the armrest.

“Why don’t we put it on the end table for when he wakes up?”

Agreeing readily, she sets it by his head and returns to his side, beaming. He herds her into the kitchen and turns toward the refrigerator.

“Do you want to help me make dinner, Olly?”

“Yes!”

**

Enjolras wakes up to the smell of pasta, but only rolls off the couch to investigate the smell of fresh cookies. He almost doesn’t notice the sheet of paper on the end table, but catches sight of the bright colors and gently picks it up.

Looking at the little labeled people, he can’t help how his whole face lights up. He traces a finger over the rough words and goes to slip it away into his bedroom before spying on the pair in the kitchen.

“Can I have a cookie, papa?”

“After dinner, princess. We can have cookies and ice cream.”

Grinning, she does a little dance on the tiles in excitement. He rounds the corner and heads for the bar, firmly seating himself on a stool before Grantaire flashes him a wide smile with teeth.

“Good morning, sunshine! Glad you could join us. We have made you cookies.”

“Yes, I can see that.” He waves at Grantaire, donning a ridiculous hands off my buns apron.

Olivie twirls over to him, beaming and climbing haphazardly onto his lap. She wraps small arms around his neck and jumps in place.

“Did you like the picture me and papa drew?

He stills her with one arm, holding her tight in a hug. “I did. I loved it, thank you. Is it okay if I keep it in my room with me?”

“Yep! You can do anything with it now because it’s yours. The cookies are for you, too, so you don’t have to share if you don’t want to but papa said we’d have ice cream and cookies after dinner.”

“Of course I’d like to share. Now, why don’t you help your father set the table? I’ll be right back.”

After he helps her climb down, he heads back into the bedroom to look at the drawing one more time. Slipping his phone from his pocket, he takes a photo and sends it to everyone in a mass text. Over the years, each of them appeared in artwork made by little hands, and not one of them remained ambivalent. They loved the drawings, no matter whose child made it. He leaves his phone on the bedside table. He'll read through their compliments later. For now, he’d return to the kitchen to eat with his family. He remembers, for a moment, the cause of his sour mood, but instantly forgets when Olivie’s smiling face, still painted with crackling gold and browns, appears around the corner. If he asks, later that night, to be a lion too, well, no one would hold it against him.

**Author's Note:**

> I almost titled this 'The Lion Sleeps Tonight.' Such a sap. Hope you guys are still with me. Feel free to leave questions and comments and prompts and criticism and other such love!


End file.
